The Secret of the Glass (46 page)

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

My thanks I send to the many women in my life who supported me so ardently during the writing of this work: my editor, Audrey LaFehr; my agent, Irene Krass; my dearest friends, Jeanne Martin and Jennifer Way; my Law of Attraction ladies; and to the many women (and the couple of men) in RIRW.

Quite often artists are inspired by people whom they’ve never met, and this was especially true for me and this work—so true, in fact, that I feel compelled to mention them.

Katie Couric. I rarely watch the news, but upon hearing of her then-recent post to anchor of the
CBS Evening News
, I felt it my duty to watch, to support a woman striving to break through boundaries. If not for Katie Couric, I would never have seen a two-minute story on the glassmakers of Murano. Within a half-hour of seeing that feature, the basic plot for this story was developed.

Chris Daughtry. Music is a vital part of my creative process; in truth, it is a vital part of who I am. I received Daughtry’s first CD for Mother’s Day, just weeks after selling my first book and just as I was beginning to write this one. Many a time when I found myself staring at the blipping cursor of my computer, not knowing what key to strike next, I’d leave it to its own annoying rhythm, put on Daughtry’s CD (volume at full blast, of course), sing at the top of my voice (not a pretty thing), and dance around the house. I found empathy there, especially in the words of “There and Back Again.” In the abandon, I found the creative energy to beat that blipping cursor back into submission.

Tom Brady and the New England Patriots, especially the team of 2007. That was some of the most exciting football…ever!

Lastly, to my muse…I offer my deepest, most heartfelt gratitude.

B
IBLIOGRAPHY

To be allowed the privilege of research is a great gift and one that I am particularly grateful for. It is a ticket to explore and discover other places and people, to immerse oneself in their architecture and customs, to feel their essence if not their actuality. I was fortunate enough to find innumerable sources for this book and encourage anyone intrigued by this story, and by Venice itself, to seek them out.

Books:

Brown, Horatio F.
Studies in the History of Venice.
New York: E. P. Dutton and Co., Inc., 1907.

Brown, Horatio F.
Venice: An Historical Sketch of the Republic.
London: Rivington, Percival & Co. Inc., 1895.

Hazlitt, William Carew.
The Venetian Republic: Its Rise, Its Growth, and Its Fall, 421–1797.
London: A & C Black, 1900.

Mentasti, Rosa Barovier, and Norbert Heyl.
Murano: The Glassmaking Island.
Grafiche Vianello Srl, 2006.

Robertson, Alexander.
Fra Paolo Sarpi: The Greatest of the Venetians.
London: Sampson Low, Marston & Company, 1894.

Toso, Gianfranco.
Murano: A History of Glass.
Venice Arsenale Editrice, 2006.

Internet Sources:

Doge of Venice: Culture, Art and History of Venice, Italy www.doge.it/cultura/history.htm

Murano Magic: Origins, Growth, Decline, and Revival of Venetian Glass from Murano

www.boglewood.com/murano/history.html

Life in Italy

www.lifeinitaly.com/tourism/veneto/gondola.asp

Musei Civici Veneziani

www.museiciviciveneziani.it/main.asp

The Galileo Project

http://galileo.rice.edu/index.html

Tickitaly.com

http://www.tickitaly.com/galleries/doges-palace-venice-tour.php

Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana

http://marciana.venezia.sbn.it

Basilica di San Marco

http://www.basilicasanmarco.it

Venice is considered one of the most naturally beautiful places on earth, one to be treasured and adored, and yet it is dying a slow death. For the last thousand years it has been sinking at an average rate of seven centimeters per year. With the addition of global warming, some recent statements have reported a drop of up to twenty-four centimeters in the last century alone. For more information on what’s being done about this, please visit www.savevenice.org.

A READING GROUP GUIDE

THE SECRET OF THE GLASS

Donna Russo Morin

ABOUT THIS GUIDE

The following questions are intended to enhance your group’s reading of THE SECRET OF THE GLASS.

D
ISCUSSION
Q
UESTIONS

1. Sophia’s and Zeno’s actions were equally responsible for the situation they found themselves in; what were they? How did it affect their relationship?
   
2. Upon her first meeting with the da Fulignas, what are Sophia’s initial impressions about the family dynamics? In what ways was she correct?
   
3. What did Galileo mean when he said, “Why can I not marvel at the heavens and their miraculous workings and love the God who created them at the same time?” Is this a topic still under debate? What is it called?
   
4. The author often uses two distinct frames of reference for metaphors and similes. What are they and why are they so appropriate for the setting of the work?
   
5. Because of the event that took place at the Count of Camillo’s home, Galileo suffers a chronic illness that plagues him the rest of his life. What else does he suffer from because of the incident? How does it affect his behavior?
   
6. Sophia finally tells Damiana that she makes the glass, having kept it a secret for many years. What are the two main reasons why Sophia didn’t tell her sooner? What was Damiana’s reaction? Was it expected?
   
7. When Sophia follows Pasquale to the
   campanile
   and witnesses what takes place at its peak, she learns things about Pasquale and Teodoro that she did not expect. How did her actions, and what she learned, backfire?
   
8. Sophia’s behavior changes drastically from the beginning of her story to its end. In what ways did she change? How did the changes manifest themselves? What precipitated the changes?
   
9. When Pasquale says, “You will have your lovers, and I will have mine…hopefully, they will never be the same,” what is the implication? Did Sophia have any inclination of this prior to this moment? Was it a surprise?
   
10. What is the irony of Sophia and Teodoro’s relationship? What are the conditions they each face? Why does his sadness bring her joy? Is it a normal reaction?
    
11. As Sophia and Pasquale watch Galileo accept his reward at the Doge’s palace, they share the moment and in it “find a common ground.” What is it, and does it have any lasting effect on their relationship?
    
12. Sophia often chastises herself for her selfishness. In what ways does it reveal itself? Are there specific instances where she behaves selfishly? Is it ever warranted?
    
13. Sophia was ultimately responsible for saving Pasquale’s life, but she saved someone else by the same action. Who was it? How were they saved, and from what?
    
14. Discuss the meaning of the statement “The line is so fine between the pleasure of wanting and the pain of not having.” How does it relate to what Sophia is experiencing? What other statements explain and support what she is feeling?
    
15. Sophia and Teodoro are the main characters in the story, but there is another entity that is equally as important. Identify the character and discuss the impact on the story.
    

If you missed Donna Russo Morin’s first novel, you’re in for another delicious historical treat, this time set in the glittering and dangerous court of Louis XIV’s Versailles. Read on for a little taste of…

THE COURTIER’S SECRET

A Kensington Trade Paperback on sale at your favorite bookstore.

One

“A
re you ready, my dear?” Uncle Jules asked, his voice muffled by his protective headgear.

Jeanne nodded her head, and her own helmet, nothing more then a tin plate with peepholes, wobbled precariously.

With his own nod, Jules raised his sword before his face, aiming it straight up, like a finger pointing to the heavens, and bowed slightly but respectfully to his niece; the graceful move revealed a glimpse of the swordsman’s prowess. Jeanne mirrored her uncle’s salute and waited, willing her lungs to work, to breathe deeply in and out.

“
En garde!”
Jules barked.

Jeanne straightened her sword arm out from her waist and dropped into a crouch. Her left arm hung high in the air behind her head, the forearm gracefully bent and the wrist curled. The right arm poised half-extended, protecting the waist with the elbow and the chest with the wrist. Her quad muscles quivered with strain and exhaustion, her biceps and triceps burning their rage as she held this precarious pose for the tenth time that morning. The sound of her own breathing echoed back to her as it bounced against the crudely constructed helmet, and she smelled the remnants of the peach she’d eaten for breakfast on the vapors.

Her uncle moved. Left foot over right; she followed his provoking pattern.

“Come at me, girl. Come and get me,” Jules bellowed at her, teasing her with the tip of his fine rapier.

She moved as instructed, changing her footwork to a sequence of aggression.

“
Bon, bon,
good, good,” her uncle encouraged her. “Now advance!”

Lifting the toes of her front foot, she curled her foot up to swiftly step forward with both feet.

“Advance!”

Same move again.

“Advance, advance!”

Again, twice, first step, a quick one.

“
Bon.
Now get ready to go in for the kill!”

Jeanne felt sweat drip down her forehead, felt it burn as it rolled into her eyes, but she dared not spare a second to wipe it away. More sweat slipped slowly down her spine, tickling her blood-engorged skin, but she dared not take a moment to brush it off. The pain in her forearm burned red hot, the muscles controlling her grip on the pommel refusing to give way. Another parry, another thrust, and she moved a step closer.

The loud clangs as the long, thin rapiers came together time after time echoed in the hollow, stone room, and she inhaled the musty scent of the creeping dark mold growing where the groundwater seeped in. The old empty chamber in the basement of the grand chateau of Versailles became a void in time, place, and sound. Their bodies were all that existed here, and the small sounds they made became part of the training. Jeanne knew what to listen for, the right
ssshing
that told of a good slash, a deep grunt from her uncle; now she had him on the run. If he grunted more than she did, it was a good day, like today. A feint, a parry, and she pressed him almost to the wall.

Today,
she thought.
Maybe today I will win for the first time.

Jeanne’s thoughts allowed the smallest grin to tickle the corner of her mouth. Parry, thrust, lun—

The gong of the chapel bells clashing above their heads vibrated through the entire room.

Jeanne and Uncle Jules froze in place.

“Is that—” she began.

“The chapel calls!” her uncle cried, pulling off his headgear, releasing his long white mantle of hair.

“I am lost!” Jeanne threw off her own helmet. Her chocolate brown hair spilled about her shoulders as the headgear hit the ground with a resounding thump.

She threw her sword to her uncle, who deftly caught it by its grip. “Our secret,
mon oncle
?”

“You need to ask?” Jules looked at his niece askance.

With a small smile and a slight shake of her head, Jeanne took off for the door at a run.

“Tomorrow, dear man, yes?” she called to him over her shoulder.

“Of course,
ma petite.
” Jules waved and smiled with fondness at her quickly retreating form.

Down the hall and around two corners, up one flight of stairs and down three hallways, to the latrine she ran. From the basement of the main building, the small one that had been Louis XIII’s hunting lodge, to the back side of the south wing, just one of the expansions of his son, Louis XIV, she flew. She loosened the small ribbons and strings holding her costume together as she ran. Jeanne Yvette Mas du Bois thanked the good Lord she had spent so much of her childhood in this labyrinth of a castle; she knew every inch of it. Already short of breath, her lungs groped for air as she cursed this most ridiculous of castles. It was 1682, for goodness’ sake. There had been over two decades of renovation work, and there were still only a limited number of privies, and most of those all on this side of the massive mansion.

In the abandoned corridor, she reached the latrine, closing the door behind her, and instantly felt trapped; it was no more than a box in the wall containing a wooden bench with a crudely covered hole from which emanated the foulest of odors. Holding her breath, she threw back the lid, retrieving the bundle of clothes tied to the underside.

Jeanne sloughed off the old knickers, shirt, and bucket-top boots that once belonged to her brother, bundling and tying them beneath the lid. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath depleted by the long and convoluted trek.

Millions of
louis
had been spent on Aubusson and Gobelins tapestries but hardly enough privies for half the population living under the glorious roof, and all of them so far away that accidents occurred every day. Uncountable were the drunken nobles or lost visiting diplomats urinating, defecating, or vomiting in any private corner of the mazelike corridors, staircases, or window embrasures in their fruitless struggle to make it to the latrines or a
chaise percée
in time. The drunks were the worst, their inebriated state dissipating any inhibitions for public elimination. They behaved quite raucously about the whole endeavor. Jeanne found their obnoxious laughter as disgusting as their hygiene habits.